


might have thought that we were one

by flimsy, justaboat



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Reckless Driving, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam is going to want to know why he’s here, and Ronan won’t have an answer. He’s got four minutes to figure one out, but before his racing, stupid, hateful mind can come up with something that’s not a lie, that’ll still work, the back entrance of the factory opens and Adam strides out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	might have thought that we were one

**Author's Note:**

> Set in _Blue Lily, Lily Blue_ , between chapter 20 (Ronan takes Adam to the Barns) and chapter 31 (at the church).

Ronan wants to pretend that he hasn’t been driving around the factory for an hour and a half, waiting for the 9PM shift to be over, but he really can’t; the numbers are ticking away on the dashboard of the BMW and his phone and his watch and he can feel the hours in his legs from sitting for too long. He’s going to have to take a walk before Adam’s shift ends or his exit from the car won’t be very gracefully. 

Another block, flashing neon lights, the roar of the engine under his feet. He doesn’t want to think about why he’s here, and he doesn’t want to think about what he’s going to do when when Adam steps out of that crappy building in his crappy work uniform. 

The plan hasn’t really formed in his head that far, hasn’t really formed at all, apart from the decision he made at 12 to get up and get in his car and drive somewhere - it ended up here, somehow. He should have known that it’d be this, but right now it still stings how little he seems to know himself these days, how very little self-control he has. Not a trait he’d usually find fault with, but this is different. Adam is different. 

He hits the gas again, races an invisible ghost car across the next three intersections in a succession of lucky green lights, hits the break and swerves around the corner of the next block, heads back. 

Fifteen minutes. He’s back at the factory in three, finds a beer in the back in two and is out of the car in one, uncapping the beer with his phone. 

It’s warm out, still, the dusty faded summer air from the day lingering around old building, between street lights and in Ronan’s lungs. He takes a sip from his beer, walks around his car a few times until his thighs stop feeling like they’re made from lead. He leans against it, casually and closes his eyes. 

Adam is going to want to know why he’s here, and Ronan won’t have an answer. He’s got four minutes to figure one out, but before his racing, stupid, hateful mind can come up with something that’s not a lie, that’ll still work, the back entrance of the factory opens and Adam strides out. 

He’s indeed in a crappy work uniform and he looks fucking tired. The shadows under his eyes are dark as the night and Ronan feels his face fall, hates himself for worrying, and snaps back into a wolf’s grin for show. 

He tilts his chin in a challenge when Adam catches his eyes, sees him, and toasts him with his beer, like he’s ended up in this parking lot, drinking alone, purely by chance. 

“What are you doing here?” Adam asks once within hearing distance, voice in that same, slow drawl it gets when he’s near exhaustion.

Ronan taps a finger against his car to the rhythm of a song he doesn’t know. “Was out for a drive,” he answers simply, picking the label off his beer. Adam considers him for a moment, head tilted. Neither of them ask, but the question is silent between them: does Gansey know?

Not that it matters. That doesn’t matter. What matters, is why Ronan’s here. Why he’s been driving around for God knows too long in this fucking town to be here, now, with Adam, and why he doesn’t have the guts to say it.

The sky is nearly completely black, Ronan’s throat tight before he watches Adam nod; the movement calculated where he doesn’t take his eyes off Ronan. “Are you going to get in or keep staring at me?” Ronan snaps.

Adam rolls his eyes, pulling on the handle of the door and tugging it open to get inside. They could stay in this parking lot - not saying anything and finishing Ronan’s beer between the two of them, but the idea of the consequential silence, the necessary, inevitable silence that would follow, has fist his hands. They’ll drive, and he won’t have to think.

There’s only one light on in the building as Ronan drives off, only looking back once in his mirror as they go. He’s glad Adam’s gone from there, for now. Grips the steering wheel tightly and hopes Adam doesn’t notice the way his knuckles have gone white with it.

He speeds along the Henriette main street, faster than he’d usually go, even on a night like this, clear air and empty streets, and is pleased by the way the acceleration makes Adam suck in breath after breath. Like the weight of it is making it hard for him to expand his lungs. 

The way he’s not looking at Ronan, though, staring ahead, brows knit tightly, only makes Ronan so much more aware of the way that he _is_ looking. Angrily, he snaps his head around, puts his foot down on the gas and lets the engine speak to him. 

It vibrates through him like a song and after the second chorus he shifts into the next gear. Speeds up again. Does it over and over until they’re a rocket speeding out of Henrietta, past meadows and farmland, further out; Adam is still frowning, but now he’s gripping the handle on the door of the BMW with a firm hand. 

Ronan smiles grimly. This reaction is better than none. Making Adam Parrish, quiet Adam, Adam with hair and mood like dust, hold his breath and stare out onto the road in something akin to terror is better than nothing. 

At least, even if Ronan can’t have anything else, he’ll have this. 

They’re far out now, by the fairground like muscle memory, like when he took him to the barns, like his body is leading Adam to just another part of Ronan himself, wanting him to see where Ronan became who he is now, where Ronan learned to be himself. (He’s not proud of the how’s he realizes then, but he’s proud of who he is either way.) 

He stares out at the clearing, brows furrowed, and then hits the brakes and lets the car stop in a less graceful slide, leaving tire tracks in the gravel road, then the grass when the BMW doesn’t come to a halt immediately. 

Now, Adam reacts, swearing; it’s a hiss more than anything else. Maybe it’s not even Adam. Maybe it’s something more than him. He gets out of the car, though, unsteady, before Ronan can see his face. He unbuckles and climbs out, catches up with him to look at him. 

Adam’s eyes are wide, on the verge uncertain - lips turned down slightly into a frown. Ronan catalogues it. 

They’re alone. Ronan swallows thickly. Not even with the sounds of cars or any other movement. Henrietta, far away is quiet, too. Everything feels asleep. 

Maybe, standing out here in the tall grass, Ronan wonders if he could possibly hear Adam’s heartbeat in the still night air. Fuck, Ronan thinks briefly to himself. He’s so fucked.

Adam’s got his hands in his pockets, looking around and seemingly trying to take it all in, expression unreadable. Ronan leans against his car to let him, wishing he had another beer. He doesn’t know what to say.

“If you took me out here to kill me, it’s a pretty good location,” Adam says flatly, breaking the silence that’s settled between them.

Ronan huffs out something close to a laugh, “Surely you know me better than that, Parrish. I wouldn’t pick a fucking wheatfield.”

He can’t read the silence from Adam. Has no idea what the fuck Adam’s thinking; it’s making the hairs on the back of Ronan’s neck stand, puts him on the edge, unsure. He thought he knew Adam, but maybe this isn’t the Adam Parrish that Gansey brought back to Monmouth all that time ago. He’s different. Ronan can’t decide if he likes him more or less this way. Maybe he just likes him differently.

Adam doesn’t smile at Ronan’s response. He turns his back to Ronan, unmoving, looking around, as Ronan licks his lips. The moon’s clear in sky now, full on display and making a show of it as he leans against his car once more.

“I like to think I do,” Adam says belatedly, voice sounding as though it’s pinched in his throat; being forced to come out.

Ronan doesn’t move. “Think you do what,” he echoes, not even trying to tame his sharp tone.

It’s now that Adam finally turns, gazing over at Ronan. There’s a look in his eyes Ronan can’t put his finger on - isn’t sure he likes it. “That I know you,” Adam says. His gaze is hooded. 

“ _Non loquere aenigmatibus_ ,” Ronan says, squaring his shoulders. _Don’t speak to me in riddles._ He feels angry, but doesn’t want Adam to know that, so he looks away from his face.

He can see oil along Adam’s skin; can see the dirt under his fingernails. Ronan hasn’t worked a day in his life, but he can almost feel the exhaustion that’s nearly seeping out of Adam. Knows full well how much Adam Parrish pushes himself, has seen it with his very eyes. 

Adam sighs, and takes a step toward him. Ronan just waits, doesn’t move; he wants to see what Adam’s going to do next. Like this has somehow turned into a guessing game that neither of them knew they wanted to play.

“Come on,” Adam says suddenly. “Let’s get this over with.” He pushes at Ronan’s chest. Ronan thinks he wants to fight and squares his shoulders, centers his stance, grounds himself. But Adam just brushes past him and to the car. He looks defeated and Ronan doesn’t understand. 

He wants to be angry with him, but doesn’t know what to be angry for, so he turns and takes a few steps after him, meets Adam’s gaze. He’s stopped to look at Ronan over his shoulder, cheeks dust and oil stained. 

“So, this is where you wanna do it?” He raises a brow at Ronan and Ronan growls at him, hisses, more out of habit than anything else because he still doesn’t get it. 

“It’s a good a place as any,” he says, pretending to know. Maybe Adam does want to fight him. Maybe that’s why he came along. Maybe he’s hated - really hated - Ronan all this time. Ronan wouldn’t be surprised. 

Something in Adam’s eyes flickers, but he turns and starts walking backwards, now facing Ronan, until his ass hits the broad snout of Ronan’s car. Something about the movement, the way Adam presses against the grill, has Ronan swallow air. It’s sexy. It shouldn’t be. It’s uncontrolled. It shouldn’t be. 

“We could have done this after I had a shower, you know,” Adam says like he’s making light conversation. Ronan takes a step, wanting to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about. Adam unbuttons the top of his work uniform, cocks an elegant brow at him. Oh, Ronan thinks. Then: fuck. Fuck. Because this is not happening, because this is not how he wanted it to happen. 

Adam keeps staring at him, unwavering. “What? I thought this is what you wanted, asshole.” He says the last bit the same way he’s said everything else: casually. It means nothing. Ronan is not an asshole to him. Taking his clothes off isn’t anything to him either. Inviting Ronan to use his body for casual sex isn’t either. It hurts. 

Ronan wants to tell him _no_ and button his shirt up again and wipe the grime off his cheek and drive him home and kiss him at the door. That’s what the wants to do. Maybe that’s what he’d planned for tonight. Too bad he didn’t have that plan earlier. 

Fuck, fuck, the voice in his head keeps saying. He steps closer, hands trembling. He shoves them the pockets of his jeans, juts his hips out and says, “Fuck you.” He makes himself smirk cruelly. “Or me. Whichever.” His chest is tight. He hurts. He hurts. 

Adam tilts his head, eyes narrow, fierce, wary. “Suck me,” he says. 

Ronan has imagined in his life up until this point a handful of possible scenarios going this way. Ideas of having Adam, even if it’s just for a small, brief time. He never thought farther than that, couldn’t bring himself to imagine something so casual with Adam. With _Adam_ , of all people. 

His mouth feels like it’s somehow been glued shut. In his head, he curses himself and his inability to tell Adam what he’s thinking. It’d make things so much easier, maybe. Probably. Adam’s never been a mind reader, so he couldn’t know what Ronan’s thinking now and what Ronan’s thought about him for so long, now, it feel almost something like a tiny eternity.

It’s fucking stupid to Ronan now, just how much he’d let himself get attached to Adam. His eyes trail along Adam’s neck, and Ronan’s almost completely sure his heart is going to pound itself out of his fucking chest.

“Adam,” Ronan starts, not recognizing his own voice. His tongue feels like it’s twice its size, sitting like a weight that makes it impossible for him to speak. _This isn’t how I wanted it_ , Ronan thinks. He closes his eyes for a few, brief moments - tries to ground himself in something, anything. One of his hands instinctively reaches out, curling around Adam’s waist. Ronan presses his thumb in, listens to the way Adam sucks in a breath.

There’s a line, with Ronan. A line that he’d never known if he could cross or not. One where he could either have Adam, or he couldn’t. He’s toeing that line, here, out in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Ronan takes in a deep breath; has to remind himself to fucking breathe. Adam’s warm under the palm of his hand - just how Ronan always thought he would be. There’s no map to tell him what to do next, no instructions. He should take a step back and say no, that they can’t do this. 

But the problem is, Ronan _wants_ this. Nothing has ever really compared to the tightness in his chest or the tugging inside him when it comes to Adam.

Adam doesn’t say anything, and Ronan’s grateful for the few moments of silence between them. His head feels foggy.

“Come on,” Adam urges him, just above a whisper. 

Ronan leans forward, pressing his forehead to Adam’s temple and breathes him in. Feels both hands on Adam, and knows - has known since Adam made it very clear what he thought Ronan’s intentions were - what he’s going to do.

He’s going to give in. Because he’s fucking weak and Ronan hates himself for it; can feel it crawling under his skin.

His entire body feels frantic with thoughts racing and turning in his head, going back on themselves. He brings one hand to tug on the waistband of Adam’s jeans, like a question. There’s holes in them, stains and splatters of God knows what else, but Ronan can’t bring himself to care. Adam goes along easily, never once hesitating. Ronan likes to think that’s because he trusts him, but he can’t know for certain. 

He wishes he could make Adam come undone just from one single touch alone, like Adam is doing to him right now. He moves his head slowly, pressing his lips to the warmth of Adam’s neck - the soft skin, and sucks.

If not for the low groan Adam lets out, Ronan’s sure he might’ve been dreaming up until now. Sinks his teeth in for just a moment. Adam rocks his hips up in response, and that nearly makes Ronan want to scream. Adam allows him to worry at his neck for another moment or two, so long that Ronan thinks it might be alright to lean up and kiss him, show him what it is that he really wants, but then Adam grips his shoulders tightly and _pushes_. 

Ah, Ronan thinks. He bites down one last time, harder than before, and goes. The grass is wet under his knees and his eyes are level with the buckle of Adam’s belt. He looks up, his heart pounding so hard he’s sure Adam can see it on his neck. 

“Quick and rough?” Ronan asks like he knows what the fuck he’s talking about. It’s a pathetic effort to stay composed that he’s sure Adam is noticing. 

“You show me,” Adam bites out. He’s grinning back, a smirk that says he won’t give an inch. Ronan doesn’t understand what’s happening, still, and doesn’t understand what made Adam this way tonight. Maybe work. Maybe he’s horny. Maybe he’s the one using Ronan, and not the other way around. 

With his knees in the dirt, tiny pebbles digging in, that suddenly makes a lot more sense. 

“Gonna blow your mind,” Ronan says. “Get it?” Thump, thump, thump, his heart says at the same time, but faster. A lot faster. He still has so fuckling clue what he’s doing. 

Adam just hums and then reaches down and brushes Ronan’s hands off his belt and undoes his fly. His boxer shorts are green and unlabelled. His erection is a hard outline. Ronan forgets how to breathe for two embarrassing seconds that will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

He pulls Adam’s underwear down with more force than necessary and is pleased when Adam hisses in both pain and, maybe, pleasure. Now that he’s prepared, it’s easier for Ronan to pretend. Adam can’t know. 

He circles Adam’s cock in his hand and gives it a couple of strokes like he would his own, maybe adds a harder twist to it. 

He’s all golden-dust there, too; the hair curling around his dick, which itself is dusty pink, pretty like Adam himself. Ronan is staring. He closes his eyes and leans in to go down on him because Adam _can’t know_. Can’t know how much Ronan’s really wanted this - it’s enough that Adam knew he wanted it at all. 

He’s unpracticed, is the first irrational thought going through his head while wrapping his lips around the head of Adam’s cock. 

He takes a deep breath through his nose and reminds himself to go through the steps - but it’s hard when it’s not like it’s supposed to be. This isn’t supposed to be something casual in the middle of a fucking field, with grass under his knees and Adam practically sprawled out on the hood of Ronan’s car. So he tells himself it isn’t. Lies to himself even though he knows the fucking truth. 

He sucks on the tip - though that’s mostly to get a reaction out of Adam; which it does. He tilts his head back, what little Ronan can see of him - exposing the bruise Ronan had left against his skin just a few moments before. Ronan presses his tongue into the slit, which in return makes Adam’s legs buckle.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Adam breathes out. Ronan can feel himself getting hard in his own jeans, and curses himself silently for it.

There’s a moment, short and fleeting, where Ronan thinks maybe, possibly - Adam will figure it out. Will in one brilliant moment know the biggest secret Ronan’s kept from him: which is Adam himself.

He takes more of Adam in, jaw only just starting to ache and closes his eyes. Wants so desperately to trail his lips along the inside of Adam’s jaw, nipping at the warm skin - flushed now where Ronan’s got a hand keeping himself steady where it’s gripping Adam’s thigh.

Adam’s got a hand on Ronan’s head now, gripping where he’s making small, breathless sounds that send a rush of urgency through Ronan. His own cock is starting to ache, nearly painful where it’s pressing insistently against his fly - but he ignores it. Pushes it to the back of his mind as he hears Adam let out a moan - thankful there’s no one around to hear.

Not because he’s fearful of people finding them. But if only for the reason he wants to remember what Adam sounds like, now, unraveling to Ronan’s touch. He doesn’t want anyone else to know what his neck looks like this - exposed and flushed. Is selfish in only wanting Ronan to himself to know how his mouth parts just slightly, lips red and bitten where Adam’s presses his teeth against them to try and mute himself.

Because Ronan’s fucking _selfish_ and only wants Adam for himself. No one else. And he did this. He was the one that has Adam panting for more, tugging on Ronan’s ears and that makes something inside Ronan pull, insistent and not wanting to be ignored. 

He takes him deeper and allows himself to choke, like he’s seen in porn before; it’s unpleasant and it hurts and it’s perfect. Adam gets louder. He slides his hand down Ronan’s shaved head to his shoulder and digs his nails in, and under Ronan’s hand the muscles in his thigh tense. 

Ronan does it again, eyes watering. And again, stomach turning, and then when he pulls away for the last time, Adam’s cock twitches against his tongue and between his lips, and he nuts into Ronan’s mouth. 

Swallow, he tells himself, fucking swallow, and he does, cheeks hot from not breathing and the heat from Adam’s body and the car. 

Adam crumbles away a second later, buckles against the grill. Ronan sits back on his heels and allows himself a moment of clarity and satisfaction because he _made_ this, he made Adam this way, he gave him the flush spreading from his blotted cheeks to his chest, heaving heavily, gave him the shaky legs still trembling under Ronan’s touch. He made all that, and not even in a dream. 

It only lasts for a moment and then Ronan feels ashamed. He stumbles to his feet, intent on getting away, but Adam catches his arm and pulls him back. He aligns Ronan’s body against his own, and Ronan for a fearful moment thinks that Adam has seen it on his face. Then he realizes that Adam merely saw him get up, that his face is stone as always. It feels good to be an asshole on the outside, he tells himself. 

“You swallowed,” Adam says. He’s breathless and sounds less confident than before, more like the Adam Ronan thinks he knows. Thinks. 

“Told you,” Ronan drawls. “Quick and rough.” 

Adam’s mouth quirks, eyes darting over Ronan’s face. His pulse is a bird on his hip trying to escape Ronan’s grip on it. Ronan presses closer, pins him harder, squishes it. His hips press against Adam’s until he’s sure Adam can feel his erection. He wants him to - he wants Adam to know that he’s a guy with a dick that’s hard because he feels like that’s the thing to do. 

“Put your hands on me, Parrish.” He wishes it’d come out rougher even than it already does. It’s a bark, a crow’s laugh, a rustle of fall leaves. Ronan wishes it were a dragon. “I wanna fucking _come_.” This is true, but he also wants to fucking kiss Adam. He doesn’t do that. 

There’s a slight pause. Then: “You think I can help with that?” Adam asks.

Ronan stares at him, head pounding as he nods. Adam looks almost nervous - watching Ronan carefully; as if trying to gauge his reaction. 

He’s never been close to Adam like this before. Close enough to see the way his lower lip is trembling, just slightly. Or to catch the scent of oil and a bit of soap, hidden under all the work and labour he just put in at work. And something else - something sweet, enough to make Ronan feel like he’s about to lose his footing, waiting now on the edge of impatient.

Ronan has no idea why he’d be nervous. “What, you need some tips?” he asks, sounding something like a grunt.

Adam bites the corner of his lip, nerves now seemingly being replaced with what could be seen as annoyance. Which settles something like satisfaction inside of Ronan, pushing him into another cycle of hating himself for it.

Ronan bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself under fucking control when he feels Adam begin to tug on the waist of his jeans. It’s not long until Adam’s got his hand in Ronan’s pants, like a small victory. His cock is still painfully hard, though Ronan doesn’t say this out loud for Adam to hear.

“This isn’t going to - take long,” Ronan manages to pant out before he can bite his tongue.

Adam doesn’t say anything in response, brows furrowed in concentration that Ronan isn’t sure he wants to break. In a moment of absolute weakness, with Adam thumbing the tip of his dick and doing these long, slow strokes - Ronan allows his arms to go around him, almost tentatively. Tucks his forehead against his neck. 

He can feel Adam’s breath against his neck, warm and sending a shiver through Ronan as he closes his eyes - Adam’s hand warm, skin calloused, still around Ronan. Fuck, he’s losing his fucking _mind_.

“Like this?” Adam asks, lips brushing along Ronan’s skin lazily as he talks. Could be intentional, but it also might not be. Ronan tells himself it is. Because it hurts less that way.

Ronan takes in a sharp breath, trying not to give himself away. “Yes,” he says through gritted teeth, eyes still closed. Grips Adam where they’re still standing, somewhere between an anchor and reckless abandon. 

He clings more tightly, and Adam starts again. He doesn’t pretend to know what he’s doing and Ronan can feel it, the awkward twist of his wrist, the way he’s focused in order to keep the pace steady. But instead of worse, it just makes it better. More intense. More real. Because this is the real Adam right here, not something that may or may not have appeared to Ronan in a dream before, which he’d never admit. This is real. 

His hips buck, knees tremble. He wants to say again how he’s close, but once was enough. Adam is panting, too, moving his hand faster. Ronan buries deeper against him, spine going hot and cold at the same time. Adam is warm and solid and right there and he can feel his heartbeat through his neck against his lips. 

He wants to kiss him. He thinks about it when he comes, about the way Adam would taste, what it would have been like had it been what Ronan wanted it to be (kisses, slow, bed, drunk?, kisses, biting, the shiver of their bodies entwined, kisses, Adam’s lips). He admits the thoughts for as long as he’s holding onto Adam’s body, for as long as shivers pass through him and he can see searing white behind his eyes. 

When he snaps back, Adam is rubbing his shoulder, his dick tucked back into his open flies; they’re leaning onto each other, sweaty and hot and post orgasmic. Ronan straightens his back, stares at Adam’s face. Adam stares back, but doesn’t pull away, cheeks still red. Their breaths mix, noses almost touch. 

Maybe now, Ronan thinks. He leans in a little more until his forehead is against Adam’s. He’s so close, their lashes are almost brushing, as are their lips. Maybe now. But then Adam tilts his head and blinks slowly. 

“Real romantic here,” he says. “Did you suck him off like that too? Against the car?” 

No. Ronan’s heart cools down 80F until it’s a shard of ice in his chest. Suddenly, Adam’s body feels too hot, too real, too much. He jerks away, staring. “What the fuck?” he manages but none of his defenses are up; he actually sounds like he’s distressed - that just distresses him more. 

“Or was it the other way around with him?” Adam’s face is hard, but his palms, no longer connecting with the car, are turned to the ground, like he’s pulling energy from it. No, Ronan thinks again but no word comes out of his mouth. 

“Nice,” Adam concludes and looks away. He pushes off the car, wind in his hair. He must have felt it, somehow, and suddenly Ronan wonders why he was stupid enough to bring him here; it’s full of energy, everything must be ablaze for Adam. Bright like a beacon. All their dream things having left behind shadows of light. 

Ronan’s a fucking idiot, and he’s so angry at himself that it makes him angrier at Adam. Adam who’s cock he just sucked because he thought that’s what Adam wanted. 

He wants to shout at him, but he feels too sick to. The insinuation alone makes him ill; the fact that Adam is thinking he’s that kind of person, with Kavinsky of all people, too, makes it worse. Ronan would never have fucking touched him, but every part of his vocal cord has caught the frost in his chest and he can’t find anything to say. Except:

“Fuck you,” he snarls. His feet move on their own. The inside of the BMW is dark, cool, and horrible. Adam manages to push off the hood before Ronan swerves around to speed off; every cell in his body feels like it’s been beaten to within an inch of its life. Ronan feels worse. 

He’s on the road - off the grave path - again in a minute, but it feels like an eternity, like he can still see Adam’s dark silhouette in the rearview mirror. 

He’s going to go home and Gansey will be awake and he’ll ask him where he’s been and he’ll tell the truth (with Adam) and Gansey will ask where Adam is and Ronan will tell the truth again (I fucking left him in a fucking field). Ronan knows that Gansey will go get Adam, and Adam won’t move an inch because Adam knows too, that Gansey will come get him. Adam will rage because he won’t take a favor but will have to, and Gansey will click his tongue at Ronan and not say anything. Not with words. They’ll fight again, all three of them and it’ll be Ronan’s fault (again). 

Ronan wants to put his BMW against a tree and get it over with, but he needs to get Gansey, so Gansey can get Adam.

Ronan wishes he could turn the BMW around and go back there himself. But he can’t. He really can’t.

**Author's Note:**

> We are also on Tumblr: [Sharon](http://loueh.tumblr.com/) \- [Nika](http://flimsi.tumblr.com/).


End file.
